Some might try and forget it. Others try to suppress it, to pretend it didn’t exist. One cannot, however, truly cut the string in half, make the whole two separate halves.

~ ~ ~

And so bearing that in mind, when Kurt Hummel graduated McKinley High 10 years, no one had a doubt in their minds that he and Blaine Anderson would ever disconnect; that their bond, their love, was so strong, so potent, it would never dissolve.

And they were right; even as Kurt moved to New York, choosing to pursue a career in the fashion industry, and Blaine stayed in Lima, their love grew stronger, more unbreakable. Even when, the following year, Blaine graduated from McKinley himself and moved in with Kurt to New York, people still held the belief that they would make it; that they would be�that couple.

It’s funny how things can seem so constant, so definite, at a certain point in time. From the window of their dingy little apartment in New York, Kurt and Blaine felt like the world was theirs for the taking, like nothing could stop them. They looked over that dark, mysterious city, and felt that tug in their gut, that tug that told them they would conquer, and they would conquer together.

The next 4 years passed in a slew of dog-eared textbooks and empty coffee cups, in stolen kisses and whispered�I love yous; they were living the dream, doing something worthwhile in their seemingly insignificant lives. They had it all; love, a promising future, freedom.

Each other.

Life passed quickly, days turning into months, which turned in years. As Kurt moved up from an intern to an assistant to a junior director of design, they moved out of their dingy little apartment, opting out on, instead, a beautiful four room one in the heart of the city. It was everything they could have ever wanted, ever hoped for.

Blaine, on the other hand, was actively seeking work as a musician, his impressive knowledge of various instruments and deep, smooth voice his main token. In the meanwhile, he found work as a secretary in a hot-shot business firm, filing papers and taking calls. It wasn’t his passion, but it paid for sheet music and guitar strings.

So, Blaine filed papers and Kurt sketched designs; and they were busy, immensely so. But they always found time for each other. Always found time to love and to be loved. Always found time to make love, to pleasure one another, in the stolen hours of the night.

They had even been talking about marriage, about a family. Life, seemingly, was moving forward, towards happiness and memories. All seemed well, indestructible, even, to others and to themselves.

Sometimes, though, life throws a curveball at you. Things are not always as the frayed pages of fairytale books paint them to be. People fight, get angry at each other, hurt each other’s feelings. Kurt and Blaine were certainly not an exception to this rule. They prided themselves, however, in being that couple that always resolved in peacefully, that figured it out in the end, came out ten times stronger.

But things change.

~ ��~��� ~

One particular night found both of them exhausted from work, Kurt scribbling ferociously on a sketchpad on the couch, Blaine tuning his guitar. He strummed a sad melody, the notes softly piercing the air, accompanying Kurt’s occasional sighs and scratches.

“Do you mind? I really need to get his design down by tomorrow, and while I normally love to hear you play, I really need to concentrate right now.” Kurt’s face was contorted into a slightly annoyed expression, his pencil hovering over his sketchpad.

Blaine’s hands froze over the strings, looking up at Kurt with a hint of surprise and defensiveness. “Sorry, I just need to get this chord progression down pat for my gig tomorrow.”

“Another gig? And how much is this one paying, Blaine?” Kurt arched an eyebrow, setting his notepad down beside him and folding his hands in his lap.

Blaine looked down, running a hand through his hair. “Itshnahapayinggig.”

“I’m sorry, but what?”

This time Blaine looked up, embarrassment clear on his face. “I said…it’s not…not a paying gig.”

Kurt pursed his lips, sighing audibly. “Blaine, how do you expect to make a living off of music when you’re not even getting compensated for it? You can’t keep taking these gigs that either pay shit or nothing at all.”

Blaine stood up, grabbing his music and his guitar with him. “Why not? Why not, Kurt? Why do I have to get paid to do something I�enjoy�doing. You know, not all of us make thousands of dollars a week for their hobbies.”

Kurt looked outraged. “Wh-what? Because, Blaine, this is ridiculous! Do you want to be stuck in that crap-hole of a job forever? Don’t you want to�do�something with your life?”

Blaine shook his head, walking towards their bedroom. “Listen, I don’t want to fight over this. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” And with that he shut the door, leaving Kurt alone to mull over the previous scene.

After finishing up his work, Kurt cleaned up and walked over to the door, knocking softly. “Can I come in?” He got no reply, and so took it as a sign to turn the doorknob and enter the room. Blaine was lying under the covers, staring off into the distance. Kurt cautiously walked over to bed and climbed on, placing a gentle hand over Blaine’s arm. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve just been so stressed with work lately, I just…I snapped. I love you, I do….Okay?”

Blaine didn’t say anything, instead turning around and pulling Kurt down for a kiss. Wrapping his arms around his waist, Kurt held him tighter, kissing him back with equivalent fervor.

Perhaps Kurt should have sensed the desperation in Blaine’s kisses; the way his body stiffened at the caress of his stomach. Maybe he should have sensed the distance Blaine held from him, the way his touches never really seemed to last, to be whole. And maybe he did; maybe, in exchange for a few hours of love, of intimacy, Kurt ignored the signs, choosing instead to love and be loved. They fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, their slick bodies pressed together, chests heaving in unison, as they told each other�I love you.

The last time they ever would.

None of this made it hurt any less, made it better, when Kurt woke up the next morning to find the bed empty, a note only left behind:

I’m sorry. I just can’t do this.

�~�� ~�� ~

They say that once those strings have been connected, there’s no way of ever making them separate anymore.

That there’s always some force, some facet of attraction, that pulls them back together, like it or not.

�